The Orpheus Effect
by Miss Pookamonga
Summary: UPDATED! A tragic accident. A mysterious stranger with a mysterious past. And a hidden world, altogether terrifying and shocking, that Rodney McKay is about to stumble into. Is it merely coincidence? Or something more?
1. Prelude: Speeding Cars

_Dear Readers,_

_Once again, I KNOW I said I wouldn't have anything up until after the 13th, but again, I've already had this idea stuck in my head for awhile, and since I'm finally done w/ classes (although not exams...but I do have a 3-day weekend ^_^), I was itching to write it. (I again humbly apologize to the Sparky Army for my being off-task--but I did remember something for YoTS that I have yet to write, so...yay?). Anyway, the song in the prelude is "Speeding Cars" by Imogen Heap, which is a great song if you've never heard it. Anyhoo, I know this first part makes no sense, but I promise, it will all be explained if you just keep READING. I hope you like it--please REVIEW!! Thanks!_

_Best regards from a bookworm (and SAVE SGA! advocate),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

_EDIT: I just read in the guidelines that posting song lyrics is no longer allowed...so I've just removed the lyrics from the story. However, this does not change the fact that the chapter is in part inspired by the song, so I still suggest listening to it (it is a good song, as I said before). :)_

* * *

**Prelude: Speeding Cars**

She wove rapidly through the pulsing throng of people making their way down the busy sidewalk. Although she already had on a thick coat, a scarf, and several layers of shirts and sweaters underneath those, she was hunched over with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, as if she was trying desperately to shield the cold from coming in contact with her. She quickly scampered around the various passerby without a single glance backwards—if anyone had been paying close attention to her, he might have surmised that the young girl was either frantically trying to escape the chilly air or perhaps just frantically trying to escape _something_. Whatever the situation was, there was most definitely a sense of urgency about the girl's movement, an urgency that was also plastered all too well on her bowed face.

* * *

Luck. She had never really believed in luck, nor did she now. Luck had nothing to do with her current predicament, nor had it ever been a factor in her existence. Life, she knew, was a pattern woven out of a more powerful substance than luck, was a pattern woven _by _more than just the mere "stroke of luck". It had not been ill luck that had brought her into the world in the way she had been. It had not been good luck that she had, at last, escaped the prison of a life that she had endured for so long. It had been neither ill nor good luck that had perpetuated every horrible and wonderful experience in between. There were things that ran far deeper in the fabric of the universe than sheer luck, and in some way or another, for whatever greater reason there was for life itself, whatever-it-was had molded her into who she was. Or, rather, was still molding her. There was a purpose for her misfortunes and her fortunes alike, and eventually, no matter what happened, things would shape themselves out to be the best they could be.

If only she had known how difficult it would be to let go of all the memories.

* * *

Those said memories—memories of countless and seemingly meaningless (although she forced herself to believe that they did, in fact, possess some meaning which she had yet to attain) "misfortunes"—swirled around in her mind like the vortexes of bitingly cold wind whirling about her shivering body as she slinked in and out of the crowd, unseen and unrecognizable. She hugged herself even tighter and drove on through the mass of indifferent bodies even more quickly as the cold and the memories combined sent eerie chills up and down her spine.

She had always been told that it had been her fault. That _she_ was the flawed one, that _she_ had been the reason for the terrible things that had befallen her. She had dug a hole for herself, she had always heard, and for years now, she had believed the story to be true. It had only been recently that she had realized that perhaps none of what had occurred had been her fault at all, but the fault of others unwilling to recognize their folly. But the years of imprinting could never be erased, and she knew she would always be confronted with the impossible struggle of dueling with that ominous feeling of worthlessness that had plagued her so relentlessly throughout her entire childhood.

She had once been something, someone.

But when she had rebelled, she had been reduced to nothing and no one.

She had gained her freedom, she realized suddenly as she scurried across a darkened alleyway, but it had come with a terrible price.

* * *

She had no idea where she was going. She suddenly realized that fact too as she paused (much to her dismay) at the edge of a crosswalk. Looking up, she scanned the faces and building fronts surrounding her, and a terrible rush of horror and displacement struck her; she could physically feel her entire spirit plummet into the depths of her stomach. Where was she? How far had she gone? How long was she going to wander aimlessly around the city, while the day grew dark and the wind even colder? Better yet, how was she even going to _survive_ out here in the world, utterly alone?

She jumped when the traffic light timer went off, beeping up a storm. She fervently strode across the street and down the next few blocks, stiffly trying to avoid the questions burning holes in her mind. She couldn't just keep _walking_, she knew that. She couldn't keep running, hiding, slipping in and out of the shadows like she had always tried to do when she had been younger.

And yet, she had no choice but to run.

If she wanted to live.

* * *

It was then that she bumped into the woman.

She mentally cursed herself the moment the collision happened—she had been paying complete attention to the soiled ground below her when she had felt herself slam painfully hard into something, afterwards staggering backwards in shock and muttering a thousand apologies by the second, utterly embarrassed at her clumsiness.

"Oh! I'm sorry, sorry, I didn't mean..." It took her a few seconds to realize that the woman was basically spewing the same nonsense from her own mouth, and then she stopped.

And inadvertently glanced at the woman's face.

She nearly staggered backwards again at furious dizzy spell that racked her head the moment she laid eyes on the icy daggers of blue piercing her from beneath blonde bangs. The girl suddenly felt as if she was going to be sick, although she had no idea why...

...but there was something else too.

Something about that face.

Something..._familiar_.

But oddly, frighteningly, the recognition didn't feel like it was coming from her own consciousness.

* * *

_What_ was a long time ago? What was she remembering? She'd never seen the woman before in her life; she was sure of it. And yet...something inside her was tugging relentlessly at her, something pulling harder and harder...

"Are you okay?"

The girl blinked several times in confusion and shook her head once before she realized that the woman had spoken to her. "Uh...oh, yeah, I'm fine," she said breathlessly, a billion tangled thoughts now whirling around in her head. "So sorry..."

The woman smiled warmly, and again, that uncomfortable tugging feeling wrenched at the girl's insides. "It's fine, it's fine," the woman said quickly, and with that, she brushed past the girl to stand at edge of the crosswalk perpendicular to the girl's path of travel.

* * *

The light changed, and once again, the throng of people began migrating across the street. The girl, however, was locked in a trance, staring at the woman who was crossing her street alone, blonde hair billowing behind her in the wind. Who was she, and why had she suddenly sparked the girl's interest? She was familiar, yes, yet altogether a stranger. The girl couldn't sort out the paradox...

...and nor would she have the time to.

* * *

She hadn't seen the car coming.

Neither had the woman.

The black SUV had rounded the corner so swiftly that the woman had had barely even a millisecond to react before the vehicle had rammed headlong into her body, sending it catapulting over the windshield and flying off the side of the hood to slam to the pavement below with a sickening thud. It had all happened in such a blur...one second, she had been crossing the street, the next, she was lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the sidewalk as the SUV screeched and skidded wildly away from the scene.

The girl hadn't known what she was doing until she suddenly found herself dropping frantically to her knees in a pool of blood at the woman's side, screaming something about getting help. She didn't know what had moved her...but she had suddenly felt her legs propelling her forward at the sight of the impact, and now she was there, leaning over the woman's listless body, screaming at the top of her lungs, flicking her eyes back and forth over the gradually blurring chaos reeling around her...

...voices shrieking, sirens wailing, something firm clutching her arms and dragging her away...

* * *

...and the woman, lying motionless on the street corner.

* * *


	2. I: Drowning In The Rapids

_Dear Readers,_

_Thanks to those of you that reviewed (I wish there were more...). Here's the second chap, FINALLY. I'm sorry for the long wait! Hope you enjoy...hopefully I'll get the next chap up sooner. The plot may seem to go a bit slow at first, but trust me, it's going to pick up within the next few chaps. So read and review!_

_Best Regards from A Bookworm,_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P (and her muses)_

_PS: This contains some references to SG-1's "48 Hours" and **spoilers **for "Enemy at the Gate". _

**

* * *

****I.**

**Drowning In The Rapids**

* * *

_**"We cannot change anything until we accept it. Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses." —Carl Jung**_

* * *

Rodney McKay hated lemons.

As far as he was concerned, lemons were the spawn of Satan, too dangerous to even be merely glanced at, let alone touched.

So naturally, he was pondering over just why he was holding one of the said "death fruits" in his hand without feeling the slightest bit of unease. Okay, maybe he was feeling a _bit_ nervous. But usually he avoided even _looking _at _pictures _of lemons, and here he was balancing one in his palm.

Then he remembered what had compelled him to pick up the lemon in the first place, and he chuckled as the small memory replayed itself in his mind's eye.

"_God, you're a jerk!" she spat furiously, quickly pushing herself up from the table._

_He merely smirked. "I wish I didn't find you so attractive."_

_She spun around and shot him an incredulous, deathly glare._

"_I've always had a real weakness for…dumb blondes."_

_Her lips tightened and her nostrils flared, the raging storm of anger and insult obviously rising up to its near breaking point. For a brief millisecond, her eyes flickered to the side, and then she opened her mouth again to unleash the only retort she could possibly think of._

"_Go suck a lemon," she muttered vehemently. And with that, she stormed off._

Rodney shook his head as he placed the lemon back in the fruit basket and walked towards an empty table with his breakfast tray. He didn't know why that particular memory had suddenly popped up in his head, but hell, he _had _been a jerk. He'd deserved that comeback—_and _his subsequent assignment to Russia. Lucky for him, he was less of a jerk now and could look back on that moment from time to time and just laugh at how foolish he had been. Only a total moron would've called Sam Carter a "dumb blonde", and she had gotten him good for it.

He sighed as he voraciously chewed on a piece of his waffle. It was hard to believe that it had been nearly seven years since that day, and he felt a part of him aching at the all-too familiar realization that time passed much too quickly. Sometimes he felt like thrusting himself into the invisible space of time and somehow blocking its continuously flowing cycle, like storm-wearied tree collapsing across a river. But despite the fact that he had toyed with time and space too many times to count, he knew for sure that time couldn't be stopped, and that, if anything, the river tumbled along even more rapidly when a person tried to force it to follow his personal path. Rodney just wished it wasn't so easy to get swept away in the rapids, to be plunged beneath the icy cold rush of moments that slipped from his grasp as soon as they came.

Little did he know that it was even easier to drown in the river than he knew was possible.

* * *

Richard Woolsey sighed heavily and leaned his forehead on his hand, his fingers pressing hard against his furrowed brow. If there was one thing Woolsey hated, it was receiving bad news, but claiming the responsibility of informing others of such news was even worse. Granted, this was nothing compared to a wraith culling, but its nature was almost as devastating, and he knew, with that horrible sinking feeling in his chest, that this was not going to go over well with the expedition members.

He groaned and forced himself to look up at the familiar figures cheerfully striding towards the office. His eyes caught the giddy smile of the one figure playfully teasing Dr. Keller, and he groaned yet again. That particular one was most definitely not going to take this well.

Oh, how he loathed being the one to wipe short-lived happiness off people's faces.

A solemn silence suddenly settled upon the group as they filed into Woolsey's office, forming a flank in front of his desk. It was as if they had somehow sensed the somber mood within creeping past the threshold of the office doorway and had instinctively known to cease their merry conversation upon entering the room. The abrupt change of atmosphere created yet another thread of thick tension, and the sinking feeling in Woolsey's chest plunged into his stomach. If they could already tell now just how bad it was…oh, god, he had better get this over with.

"Good morning," he managed to force out of his mouth, although he noted the slight waver in his voice.

He was greeted with the usual out-of-synch chorus of "good mornings" from the team members, and along with that, a variety of curious stares. Well, he obviously didn't seem like himself, then. Which was exactly the case.

"I know you're all wondering why I brought you in here at this time of the morning, and I apologize for that," he continued, feigning composure as best as he could and drawing a sharp intake of breath. "But I've just received some urgent news from the SGC, and…" He paused and scanned the now confused faces staring intently back at him. "Some of you are going to want to sit down." His eyes inadvertently flickered to that certain team member and then flitted away again.

Luckily for Woolsey, said team member, now sporting an anxious frown on his features, was the first to sit down, followed by Teyla, who shot him a glance from across the room. The other four remained standing, although Dr. Keller leaned a bit against one of the armchairs.

"What happened?" asked Colonel Sheppard in a dark voice edged with the slightest bit of danger.

Woolsey sighed and paced toward his desk. He paused for a moment and stared blankly at his chair, wondering if it would be appropriate to sit down at a time like this. After a few seconds, he decided it wasn't and turned back around to face the team. He opened his mouth to relay the speech he had mentally rehearsed countless times that morning, but the minute he did so, his mind failed him and he was left with nothing to draw upon except his own emotions and the raw words of General Landry's original message.

Damn it, he had known this was going to happen.

Woolsey sighed once more and walked over to the far wall, creating a safe distance between him and the others. Mustering up whatever emotional strength he had left in him, he decided to say whatever came to mind and hope that it would emerge from his mouth sounding somewhat decent.

"It's more of a…personal…matter than a galactic threat," he uttered lamely, forcing himself to meet his comrades' gaze. "However, it does pertain to you all as well as to myself, and I felt it important to tell you."

Dead silence.

They waited.

Woolsey took another deep breath and dove off the cliff prepared for him.

"Two days ago, the SGC received word from Colonel Mitchell that there had been an accident…" he stopped momentarily to survey the frightened looks that crossed the team's faces, "a car accident. And…that…Colonel Carter…had been involved."

For a moment, everything went numb, as if Woolsey hadn't spoken at all.

Then the words hit the heavy air like deadweight.

No one said anything. Woolsey felt the expressions on their faces immediately shift, and he sensed an even greater wave of anxiety issuing forth from the corner of the room where _he _happened to be sitting. Woolsey figured he'd better finish speaking as quickly as possible so none of them would have to remain trapped in the suffocating cage his office had now become. He took yet another deep breath and continued.

"Colonel Mitchell said that the doctors at the local hospital claimed that eyewitnesses had seen a large SUV run into her as she was crossing the street," he said quietly, avoiding their eyes. "According to them, it was a hit-and-run—the SUV sped away from the scene immediately after the collision."

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Colonel Sheppard's jaw tighten and Ronon's entire body grow rigid.

"Right now, she's in very critical condition. She's been in a coma since she arrived at the hospital, and due to the force of impact of the vehicle, they believe that although they can fix the external damage, the internal damage done to her body may be irreparable at this point. They won't be sure until they run some more tests to know the full extent of what happened."

There was another choking silence.

"How…how long does she have?" A soft, cracked voice suddenly cut through the tension, nearly startling everyone in the room.

Woolsey turned his head to meet the one face he didn't want to have to look at. The minute his eyes met the other pair, he knew his worst fears had been confirmed. Dear god, he hated this.

"They don't know," he almost whispered, compelling himself to look the other man in the eye. "Right now it doesn't look so good."

Dr. Keller's fingers tightened their grip on the back of the chair.

Woolsey laid his chin on his fist and absent-mindedly paced back towards his desk. "I'm authorizing an unrestricted temporary leave for anyone who wishes to go visit her," he finally heaved out, a large sigh following. "Until we receive word that she is…well…anyone may go and return as they please provided that they inform me first." He looked up and reluctantly met their deadened faces, laced with pain and yet numbed from shock.

"Thank you," Teyla suddenly said very softly as she slowly stood up from her chair. She nodded to him compassionately, and Woolsey silently thanked God yet again for giving him at least one person who could keep him sane.

"Well, since she was in charge of you for a year, and since you all obviously know her personally, I felt that it was my duty to let you have the chance to—"

His eyes suddenly locked with the terrified gaze of _that _team member, and his breath caught in his throat. _To say goodbye_. That was what he'd almost let slip out of his mouth.

And judging by the agonized look on Rodney McKay's face, Woolsey knew that the scientist had caught the grave implication.

Fortunately, the expedition leader was rescued from having to endure yet another heartbreaking silence by Teyla once again, who stepped forward to speak the second she sensed the anxiety increase within the room. "We are very grateful for your consideration, Mr. Woolsey," she said warmly.

"No need," replied Woolsey wearily, waving his hand. "As I said, it was my duty to tell you. Again, I apologize for having to give you this news so early on in the day, but I thought it would be better for you all to know sooner than later."

A chorus of nods succeeded his comment, and with that, he finally sunk down into his chair, silently releasing them from the meeting.

He watched them as they all filed out quietly, the quiet of grief just beginning to settle over them as they took special care not to look Dr. McKay in the eye. His head was bowed lower than the rest of theirs, his eyes burning holes in the floor with their intense stare.

It was only after a few seconds that Dr. Keller risked reaching up to touch his shoulder. But surprisingly, he flinched and shrunk away, causing the doctor to withdraw her hand as her face fell in sorrow.

Woolsey sighed for what seemed the millionth time that day.

He'd gotten it over with, finally.

But the true ordeal had just begun.

* * *

He lay down on the bed, motionless, letting the deluge surge over him and numb his sanity.

He was drowning, drowning in the rapids. Spiraling into the darkness of the river's depths, being tossed to and fro like a pebble in a wave, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

He closed his eyes, the prison of shadows trapping him in its grasp. He floated there in nothingness, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. He himself was nothing. Just _there_, surrounded by empty space.

As frightening as that was, being nothing was more comforting than being Rodney McKay the astrophysicist. Because Rodney McKay the astrophysicist felt pain. Rodney McKay the astrophysicist felt loss, he felt terror and fear, he felt the sharp pang of shock, he felt overwhelming guilt. Rodney McKay the astrophysicist was losing someone he loved, and the agony and confusion of it all had become too intense for him to endure.

So he chose to become nothing.

It was too easy to forget, to allow himself to grow numb to his surroundings. Too easy to bury the pain and pretend that it didn't exist, had never existed. Too easy to deny things that were right in front of his face, screaming at him to acknowledge them.

And yet, ironically, the damned river kept on flowing.

It was the paradox of life. One could detach oneself from the world and live in delusion, but ultimately one could never escape the incessant pull of the current of time.

It was something he'd struggled with his entire life. Acceptance.

But he couldn't accept _this_. No, not this. Ford's disappearance, Carson's death, and Elizabeth's abduction had all been unbearable enough, but to have…_her _ripped away from him so abruptly, so unfairly? No, he could not and would never be able to accept that.

He couldn't because he hadn't been there. Hadn't been there to see her one last time.

The last time he'd seen her had been a month before, when Atlantis had made its daring cross-galactic flight to Earth. She had flown out to visit the city while it had still been situated in the San Francisco Bay, and everyone had shared a rather joyous reunion, laughing and joking with each other about pointless things, chatting about what was going on in their personal lives and so forth. But the visit, like all friendly visits, had been far too brief for everyone's liking. And now a considerable amount of time had passed—enough time that Rodney feared that the image he had in his head of her wasn't even accurate anymore.

With the others, he had seen them right before they had been taken away.

With Sam, he hadn't.

And he felt insufferably guilty for it.

It wasn't his fault, he knew. How could he have been there, when he lived in a galaxy light years away from her own, when he couldn't have possibly known that an SUV was going to show up out of nowhere one day and senselessly ram into her? Yet a part of him desperately ached to turn back time, to throw himself at her and push her out of the way before her life was stolen from her. To save her. To at least have the chance to apologize for everything he had said that he shouldn't have, and to say what he _should_ have a long time ago.

But again, he was reminded that time didn't work like that.

So he tried once again to slip back into nothingness, to let the river wash over him and carry him away in its current. But this time he couldn't. He screwed up his face so hard that his head throbbed, that all he saw was a wall of darkness, but in the back of his mind one scene kept replaying in his head over and over and over. One memory, slipping in and out of his fingers like the cold cascade of running water.

"_I've always had a real weakness for…dumb blondes."_

_Her lips tightened and her nostrils flared, the raging storm of anger and insult obviously rising up to its near breaking point. For a brief millisecond, her eyes flickered to the side, and then she opened her mouth again to unleash the only retort she could possibly think of._

"_Go suck a lemon," she muttered vehemently. And with that, she stormed off._

He didn't sleep that night.

He merely drowned, choking on time that couldn't be brought back.

Drowned in the rapids, being carried farther and farther away from a memory that refused to leave him.


	3. II: The Curious Feeling of Falling

_Dear Readers,_

_Once again, thank you so much for the reviews! I'm sorry I've posted this a bit later than I said; some stuff came up regarding school/work/etc., so I didn't get to finish it as soon as I wanted to. But now, here it is, so I hope you enjoy. :)_

_Best Regards from a Bookworm/SGA fan,_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P (and her muses, who won't shut up)_

**

* * *

II.**

**The Curious Feeling of Falling**

* * *

_**"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one…It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things." —Lemony Snicket**_

* * *

"You got everything?"

He nodded, staring blankly past the doctor's worried face.

Jennifer sighed, placing a hand on Rodney's arm and rubbing it gently. "I'm sorry I can't go with you—I've had Major Teldy's surgery booked for weeks and I can't move it. But I'll try to join you as soon as can, okay?"

Rodney nodded again, not really paying attention.

"Rodney?"

"Yeah." He turned and looked at her, the dazed expression still in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay."

He merely nodded again, his vacant stare moving to the floor.

"Ready to go?" John stepped up next to them, his voice cautiously soft.

Jennifer glanced at Rodney, who looked up once again and turned to John.

"Yeah."

John nodded at him and then silently walked towards the 'gate. Rodney slowly picked up his duffle bag and slung it on his shoulder, adjusting his feet so he could support the bag's weight.

"Do I get a goodbye kiss?" Jennifer asked quietly as Rodney began to leave.

He stopped, looked at her for a moment, then quickly leaned over and planted a tiny kiss on her mouth.

"Bye."

His eyes fell to the floor as he turned back around and followed John, Teyla, and Ronon to the 'gate. Jennifer gave a half-hearted wave to the other three before they stepped into the rippling wormhole, leaving her to stare despondently at Rodney's back as he took his step forward and disappeared without so much as a parting glance.

* * *

Rodney didn't really remember anything that happened once he and his friends set foot in the SGC. He knew that they'd been ushered in by somebody familiar and had spent the better part of their time hugging various people, but he couldn't quite recall their faces. Or whether he even knew all of them.

His mind didn't really snap into focus until Daniel Jackson's car pulled into a parking space somewhere and the archaeologist suddenly announced, "We're here," in a particularly glum voice.

Rodney shook his head, startled, and had to blink his eyes a few times before his vision cleared and he realized that they had arrived at the hospital.

The hospital where _she _was.

Lying motionless on some bed, with a bunch of tubes sticking out of her.

Rodney suddenly didn't want to get out of the car.

"You coming, Rodney?" It was Daniel, standing outside his door.

Rodney nodded silently, unbuckling his seatbelt and reluctantly dragging himself out of the seat. He couldn't look at Daniel. That man had worked with her for over a decade and knew Sam better than most people—looking at him would only remind Rodney of her, and he didn't want to think about her at the moment. Didn't want to because when he thought of her, all he could imagine was a lifeless form covered in white blankets, a limp body that was cold and pale and alone. That would probably never tell him to "go suck a lemon" ever again.

"She's in the intensive care unit," said Cameron Mitchell quietly when they finally entered the double doors of the building.

Rodney shot a quick glance at Vala as they wove their way through the crowd of people and towards the elevators. Her face was unusually stony and expressionless, and she was staring straight ahead at Daniel's back, keeping herself so intently focused on it that Rodney immediately knew that she was desperately trying not to cry.

He knew exactly how she felt.

The elevator ride was agonizingly quiet and seemed to drag on for hours without anyone saying a single word. Rodney kept his eyes on the floor for the entire ride so that by the time the elevator arrived at their floor, he could have sworn he had explored every single nook and cranny and imperfection of the piece of carpet he'd been staring at.

They each walked out of the elevator carrying the same deathly silence that had hung over them throughout their entire trip there. Once again, there was not a single word spoken among the group until after they had entered the ICU and had stopped at a partially-closed door at the far corner of the hallway.

"This is her room," Cameron sighed heavily, waving awkwardly at the door.

Rodney shrunk back behind John, hoping no one noticed him.

Daniel leaned over and slowly began to push the door open, knocking softly just in case anyone else was already inside. A voice suddenly answered as a shadowed figure stood up out of one of the chairs and walked towards the doorway.

"Jack, hey," said Daniel in surprise. "We didn't know you were here already."

Rodney stepped back even farther.

The general waved a hand in the air mindlessly. "I got here just a few minutes ago." His voice was uncharacteristically cracked and subdued, as if he himself had been crying only moments before.

Rodney knew then that if there was anything such as a worst-case scenario, this was it.

Oh, god. He couldn't go in there.

He was slightly surprised when he finally looked up to see the group disappearing into the darkened room after Jack O'Neill. Teyla, who was the last to enter, turned to him and cocked her head to the side, indicating for Rodney to follow. For a moment he just stood there, frozen, gazing emptily at Teyla's face. Then, somehow, he found his voice.

"I…I'll wait out here," he whispered, silently pleading with Teyla to leave him there without argument.

"Rodney," she said gently, coming to clasp his trembling hands in her own. "It will be all right."

Rodney shook his head fiercely. "No, Teyla, I can't. I-I-I can't go in there."

Teyla gripped his hands even more tightly, her gaze growing more intense. "Rodney, you need to face this. You cannot run away—that will only make things worse for yourself."

Rodney suddenly felt a wave of warmth flood through his face, and to his dismay he realized that tears were beginning to well up in his eyes. He quickly looked away, but Teyla reached up and firmly brought her hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her again.

"Rodney, I know this is painful…is more than painful for you. But if this is really the last time you have to see her…you need to see her as much as she needs you there."

Rodney gulped back the tears and bit his lip, the terrible truth of Teyla's words stabbing him in the heart. She was right. He needed to go in there, to say goodbye, if that was what it had come down to. Otherwise he'd probably never get another chance, and he'd have to live with the wrenching guilt not seeing her for the rest of his miserable life.

"I…can I…can I just wait out here until you all are done or…or something? I just…not with everyone there…"

Teyla placed her hand on Rodney's shoulder. "I understand. I'll let the others know. All right?"

He nodded. "Thank you," he whispered.

She squeezed his hands reassuringly and then stepped into the room.

Rodney shut his eyes and sank down into a nearby chair.

He was alone.

Alone to wrestle with everything tumbling around chaotically inside him until it was his time.

But even then, he didn't know if he'd be ready.

* * *

It was about an hour before the solemn group finally exited the room, but to Rodney, the time came all too soon. He felt a surge of anxiety rise up within his chest as he intently avoided locking eyes with his friends. Part of him was screaming inside his head to run away, to get out of that stifling hallway and escape, to push the horrifying grief behind him. And yet another part was screaming just as loudly, threatening him with images of a guilt-laden future, a future of excruciating despair, if he didn't muster up all his courage and see Sam's face one last time.

He remained like that, gazing fixedly at the white tile floor and ferociously twiddling his sweaty fingers, until he felt a hand suddenly land on his shoulder. He expected it to be Teyla, but the hand was too firm, too heavy, and so he looked up in surprise to find Jack O'Neill looking down at him with a remarkably concerned expression on his face.

Rodney's breath caught in his throat.

"We're going to get dinner," the general said quietly. "Do you want us to get anything for you?"

Rodney stared dumbly at Jack in shock for a few seconds before he snapped out of his trance and was able to process the general's words.

"I, uh…no, that's okay. Thanks," he nearly whispered.

Jack nodded. "Okay. We should be back in half an hour or so."

A knowing shadow suddenly passed over the general's somber eyes, a silent message of understanding. Rodney shivered at the connection, but he felt a sudden warmth spread through his body immediately afterward, as Jack patted him on the back and walked away to follow the others.

It was only then that Rodney made his final decision.

He was going in there.

No matter how difficult it was going to be.

When the others had walked out of sight, Rodney drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and compelled himself to stand. He suddenly realized upon doing so that his entire body was trembling, and that his hands and his brow were nearly soaked in the cold sweat of dread. But instead of letting the terrifying fear clench around him once again, he grit his teeth determinedly, fervently wiped his hands on his pants, and turned into the doorway.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim, shadowed lighting of the room. Once they did, he could see that there was a curtain drawn most of the way across the width of the room, leaving only the edge of the bed visible. He gulped when he saw the white hospital blanket covering Sam's feet, and for a moment he froze in terror at what else lay behind the curtain. But he pushed himself forward, blocking out every sound, every sight, every little sense that would distract him from the task at hand.

He needed to do this, and he was going to do it.

He wasn't going to stop until he saw her face.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped towards the curtain, pausing again only when he reached the edge of it. His fingers curled around the plastic sheet, gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white. He could do this. He _had _to do this. He had to see her face.

And so, with a final deep breath, he released his fingers and stepped past the curtain.

His heart stopped.

It wasn't Sam.

It couldn't be Sam.

But it…_was _her.

He knew it was. That face, no matter how damaged, couldn't have belonged to anyone else.

She was lying there, deadened, limp, lifeless—like a pale corpse on a table, save for the tiny breaths rising from her diaphragm. Her blonde hair was splayed out across the pillow, still glowing even in the low light. There was a breathing mask strapped over her mouth, covering half her face with its hideous, contorted plastic structure, and all around that there were wires and tubes sticking out in all directions, connecting to a myriad of beeping machines situated at her bedside. A horrifyingly nasty black bruise covered part of the left side of her face, while the rest of her visible body was covered in a horrendous array of colorful bruises and cuts—there was one wound so large on her left arm that a huge blood-soaked bandage was wrapped tightly around it. On her other arm was a cast stretching all the way up to her shoulder, and around her neck was an dreadful-looking blue and white brace.

But the thing that struck him the most was her eyes.

They were closed.

The pale lids shut tightly over them as if she was already dead, shielding their sparkling blue light from the visible world.

It was only when he realized that he couldn't see her beautiful blue eyes gazing back at him, so full of life and vigor and love…it was only then that it truly hit him.

She was gone.

"Oh, god, Sam…" he whispered, clutching the bed railing.

And he burst into tears.

He leaned forward, shuddering with sobs, and grabbed her limp hand in one of his own. It was so cold, cold as death, and it made him sob even harder when he realized that he had never held her hand before then. He had never known what it was like to feel its warmth, to feel her hand curling firmly around his, to feel her fingers entwining with his own. Now all he had to hold was a frozen, motionless mass of flesh and bone that couldn't respond to him. It would be the only memory of her hand that he could carry with him.

And her face.

Oh, god, her face.

Rodney couldn't believe just how beautiful she looked even with all the machines attached to her, even with the breathing mask obscuring half her face, even with all the bruises and wounds. But the radiance she'd always had was gone, swallowed by a shadow of lifelessness. Her face looked so small, so sunken in—all of her did. So frail and weak, lying helpless in the dark like an abandoned child. He couldn't bear to look at her, but as he stood hunched over the bed, quaking with sobs, he couldn't stop himself from staring at her face, willing for her eyes to open just a tiny bit so he could know she was really still _there_.

"Sam…god, Sam…why…" he trailed off, sinking dejectedly into the chair beside the bed, leaning over her until his face was level with hers.

He lifted a quivering hand to her face and tentatively touched it as he fought to push back all the fantasies he'd had in the past of doing just that. This wasn't a fantasy—it was a living nightmare, a horrifying reality that was the furthest from anything he had ever imagined. Everything he had wanted before shattered into a million little pieces, sharp-edged shards that cut him deeply every time he remembered.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, finally gaining the courage to press his palm against her cheek. He rubbed his thumb back and forth against her skin, hoping that somehow she could feel him trying to comfort her. "I'm so sorry."

Nothing. No response.

Not that he had expected one, anyway.

But it still pained him to look at her face, to have his eyes trick him for a split second and make him believe that she had moved, had reacted to his touch and to his words.

He sat there quietly sobbing over her motionless figure, stroking her hand and her cheek, lost in the flood of his grief, until a sudden noise jolted him out of his trance. He instinctively looked up and was surprised when his eyes met the startled face of a young teenage girl peering around the edge of the curtain.

"Oh! I'm sorry…I thought…the others had gone…" she started, fearfully backing away from the bed.

It took Rodney a few seconds to find his voice through the drying tears. "…No, no, it's okay…you don't have to go," he answered in barely a whisper.

"Are you sure? I…don't want to interrupt," she remarked quietly, her fingers curling tentatively around the curtain again.

Rodney swallowed and shook his head. "It's fine," he answered softly. The girl paused for a moment, as if considering his words, then slowly crossed to the opposite side of the bed and sat down in the chair there.

There was a moment of awkward silence in which Rodney turned his head back towards Sam, wondering who the girl was, how she knew Sam, and if he'd ever seen her before and just wasn't remembering. She certainly didn't look familiar, but perhaps she was a new neighbor, or someone Sam had just recently met—the daughter of a new co-worker, perhaps.

"Are…are you her husband?" The girl's soft voice startled Rodney again and he glanced up quickly.

"Oh…oh no. No," he answered hastily. "No, I'm just a…a friend. A good friend."

The girl nodded, her wavy black hair shifting against her olive-skinned face as she did so, her dark eyes wide with emotion. "Oh."

Another silence.

"Are you…you know Sam?" Rodney asked gently, suddenly breaking the silence.

"I…uh…no…I was there when…it happened," she answered in a quavering voice that grew softer with every word.

Rodney's heart skipped a beat at the small implication of the accident. He suddenly felt a strange feeling of urgency rise up within him and he leaned forward almost involuntarily. "You saw?"

The girl lifted her now bowed eyes to briefly nod, then lowered them again to stare at the hands in her lap. "It came out of nowhere. The SUV, I mean," she whispered forlornly.

The odd feeling intensified, and Rodney realized that he needed to know, to know just how it had happened in order to find at least a small sliver of peace.

"How did it—"

"I bumped into her when I came to the street corner," the girl continued as if Rodney hadn't even spoken. "She was crossing the other way. She started to walk across the street and then the thing just flew around the corner and…and slammed into her." Her voice suddenly cracked, and Rodney felt a surge of empathy in his chest. "And it just…sped away. Like nothing had even happened…I ran out into the street and tried calling for help…I don't remember much else; there was so much going on at one time…"

"It's okay," Rodney interrupted, gulping a fresh wave of tears back. "I just needed to know…"

"I understand," the girl replied, looking back up at him. There was something about her deep eyes that both unnerved and intrigued him, and he stared momentarily at them, trying to decipher just what it was. But she quickly diverted her gaze again, as if she had sensed him trying to decode her.

He moved his eyes back to Sam's stiffened face and let them roam over every feature, memorizing her, before he lifted his head to look at the girl again.

"Umm…I'm sorry…I didn't think to ask your name…" he blurted out embarrassedly.

She looked up and shook her head, a tiny grin crossing her face for a split second. "It's all right. I'm Nara. Nara Lysander."

"Rodney McKay," he replied.

There was another short silence before the girl shyly continued to speak. "How long have you known her…Sam…I mean?"

He sighed heavily, letting his eyes roam over Sam's face again. "About seven years," he answered slowly. "We used to work together."

"What kind of work?"

It was an innocent question, he knew, but nevertheless he froze momentarily before uttering an adequate reply. "Physics. Astrophysics."

"Oh. Wow," the girl breathed in genuine awe. "You two must be pretty smart."

Rodney let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. But she…well, I was somewhat of a jerk in our earlier years—I always thought I was smarter—but she was really the better of the two of us." He shook his head as he remembered. "God, I've never met another person with a mind like hers," he finished, a few more hot tears escaping from his tight resistance and trickling down his face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the girl smiling softly. "She must mean a lot to you," she said quietly.

Surprised at how comfortable he felt pouring his feelings out to this complete stranger, Rodney merely nodded. "Yeah," he whispered.

Another silence settled over them, but this time Rodney found it oddly consoling rather than strained or awkward. Somehow the girl's presence was like an anesthetic dulling the ache of having to see Sam in this deadened state, and he was inwardly grateful for whatever fateful force had brought her into the room at the precise moment that he had needed comfort.

But despite all that, he still couldn't find it in him to say goodbye.

Some tiny inkling of hope clutched at him, holding him back, whispering incessantly that it wasn't yet her time. That there was something yet unfinished, something so important that she couldn't leave just yet…

…maybe it was just his imagination. But that didn't change the fact that he couldn't seem to force himself to let go.

"Umm…well…I should get going," the girl suddenly said, almost causing Rodney to jump.

"Oh…already?" he replied, the aching part within him leaping in what he could have sworn was fear. "Are you sure?"

She smiled softly at him, the smile sending a thrill of comforting warmth through his body. "I need to be getting…well…" She suddenly stopped and the smile immediately fell from her face as her eyes began to flicker nervously from one spot to the other.

Rodney, confused at the abrupt change of the girl's mood, furrowed his eyebrows. "Home?" he finished tentatively.

He could've sworn that she shuddered at the word, but she covered it neatly and forced another smile. "Yeah. Home," she replied in an almost unsure voice.

"Oh, okay, well…will you be back, um, tomorrow?" Rodney asked, the girl's apprehensive attitude sparking concern within him.

"I should be." Well, that answer was much more confident than the one before it.

"Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you…Nara, right?"

"Yeah. Same here, Mr. McKay."

She turned to walk away, but something suddenly came over Rodney and he called out after her.

"Rodney."

She turned back around, her eyebrows quirked inquisitively.

"Rodney. Call me Rodney," he said seriously, locking eyes with her but not knowing quite why.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she contemplated his unexpected offer. Then a tiny grin spread across her lips and she answered, "Rodney. It was nice meeting you, Rodney."

And with that, she turned once more and walked out of sight, leaving Rodney to gaze after her in her wake.

He stared curiously at the spot in which she had been standing only moments before, pondering over their meeting. There was just…_something_…about her that he couldn't put his finger on. But he couldn't figure out what.

He turned back to Sam's broken face and sighed, moving his hand to brush her bangs away from her cold forehead. "You would know," he whispered. "You always know."

But again, as he had morbidly expected, there was no answer.

* * *

**_A/N: Nara is supposed to look slightly like a younger version of Morena Baccarin ("Inara" on _**Firefly **_and "Adria" on _**SG-1**_) or an older version of Biana Tamimi ("Neera" from_** The Young Black Stallion**_). _**


End file.
